Sappho's Muse
by phfina
Summary: Chapter 3: The chapter in which we meet Lady Melissa, the third wife of General Pittacus, ruler of the Isle Lesbos, and in which she makes an interesting offer for Sappho to consider.
1. The House Cercylas

**Story Summary: **Sappho was the greatest poet the world had ever seen, breaking away to form her own style that none have been able to replicate, but what and who were the forces that battled for this woman's heart and mind?

Sappho's poems are archived at sacred-texts-dot-com

**Chapter summary: **The chapter in which we meet Sappho, her guards that she calls by the names of Achilles and Theseus, and they see a pale-white, golden-haired, blue-eyed stranger. We also meet her daughter, Cleïs, but we do no meet the head of the household, Cercylas.

**Setting: **Isle of Lesbos, circa 600 B.C.

**Cast of Characters:**

(Lady) Sappho: the tenth muse, poet  
"Tri": Sappho's "companion"  
Cleïs: Sappho's daughter, named after Sappho's mother  
"Achilles" and "Theseus": Sappho's two ever-faithful Saxon guards  
"Zeno": Sappho's Gallic "accountant"  
Lady Melissa: third wife to General Pittacus, ruler of Lesbos

Aphrodite: silver-eyed Greek "goddess," object of Sappho's devotion  
Apollo: red-eyed Greek "god," shines like the sun, Aphrodite's lover

**A/N**: Sappho and Cleïs are real historical figures; Cercylas, Sappho's husband, may have been created as fiction; and the other characters are my invention. This entire story is fictional: besides the names used, no claim of accuracy is made with regards to the events portrayed.

Story published in honor of femslashday-dot-com: July 18th, 2009.

* * *

It was outside the market in our capital city Mytilene that I first saw her.

I had taken to people watching this last year: the sea and the solitude of my mountain escapes, my muses, had left my pen still. Instead of giving into despair, I changed locations.

So today found me, as most every day found me, outside the market, with my guards and papyrus, watching people come and go. This particular day was like any other. The people of Lesbos were a mixed bunch, mostly composed of the the native Hellenists, but there were the Phoenicians, of course, ... and the Etruscans.

The Etruscans, or the Rasenna, as they called themselves, throwing off the more civilized Greek name for their own identity, or in more recent history, the Romans — whatever they were called or called themselves, they were little pigs of men. Ignorant, arrogant, and asinine: the only thing they did well was to fight and to shout and march in little squares, looking like a very deadly, stupid, box.

I kept this view to myself. I didn't need to be asked to do this, the government of Lesbos and the Etruscan cohort had a very delicate understanding, and they didn't need an exiled, heretical poet to start in with her stinging words to exacerbate the situation, and I didn't need to be taken outside of the town proper and be run through with Etruscan spears and the daggers of the House Mytilene running through me and the through the ones I loved. I had already been exiled to Sicily for my views and am now required to live here in the capital, and not in my home town of Eresos. I didn't need to give anyone a reason to eliminate my house for something I said or wrote.

'Keep you enemies close,' as the maxim went. It hurt me to think my own people saw me as an enemy, but I was grateful to be back, away from that Etruscan exile in that Etruscan town being forced to live with those uncivilized and haughty brutes, and that description was a compliment ... for their women.

But this woman, walking with the garrison, was not Etruscan. She didn't look like any race I knew. She didn't look human. She was taller than the soldiers marching in front of her, and where they were swarthy, she was the palest of whites.

It looked like she used much too much arsenic in her face paint.

But that wasn't her only startling feature: her hair reflected the sun in its own color. It blended the colors of straw and daisies.

And her eyes.

She was walking along, head down, behind the garrison, but then, as she was passing me, she looked up, and I saw her eyes. They weren't the deep brown color of the peoples of our part of the world. They weren't the impenetrable black of the peoples from the silk road further east.

They were the brightest of sapphire blue, the color of violets, the color of the southern-most seas.

I was looking into eyes the color that gave me my own name, Sappho, and I was transfixed by them.

"_Valkyr,"_ Achilles (really: Sven, but how could I possibly pronounce that?) my guard, towering to my left, whispered in awe.

"_Nein: Engel,"_ replied Theseus (really: Ottar), matter of factly.

The girl's attention shifted away from me and took in my guards towering over me, and she hissed. This seemed to please Achilles and Theseus no end: chuckles rumbled through their huge chests.

But this caught the Etruscans' attention, and they didn't look pleased. The last soldier turned around and started shouting at the girl in that growling, hissing, lowing noise they call their language. The girl was not cowed, however: she didn't even hide her disdain for him as he shouted up at her, trying to hurry her along, it appeared.

This did not assuage the guard. He went to strike her with the back of his right hand: a master hitting a slave. That's when I noticed the thin band around her neck: the slave collar.

But then the most amazing thing happened before my eyes. Instead of cringing, she looked him right in the eye and turned the other cheek, presenting her left cheek.

This was the ultimate act of defiance, of rebellion. He now no longer could strike her with the back of his hand, the punishment of a slave, but would have to punch her with his closed fist: a fight between equals. But her look didn't convey that she considered him an equal: as she looked down at him, the contempt in her eyes measured him as far, far beneath her.

The soldier screamed his rage, closed his fist to punch her, but a barked inquiry from the head of the garrison froze him in place. A soldier, it appeared to be their centurion because of the plume on his helmet, came into the tableau and asked a few questions. The guard who had almost assaulted the girl muttered some excuses, waving accusing toward her, but stopped talking at the centurion's stare.

The centurion glanced at the girl, said a few clipped words to the soldier who hung his head, and then turned on his heel and led his troops off toward the market, the girl in tow, eyes back toward the ground, but not at all humbled; she merely looked bored.

I went back to my papyrus. I hadn't written one word today. I hadn't written one word in a long time — a _long_ time — but my head was full of thoughts.

The garrison marched past us again later that day, but the girl was not with them. Evening was approaching; it was time to head home. I started packing my writing materials and my blank pages.

"Achilles," I said as we were walking home.

"Yes, m'lady," he answered instantly. I could feel his eyes behind me constantly scanning the people around us.

"Tell Zeno that he'll be coming into the market with us tomorrow morning ... _early."_

I could just hear Achilles' eyes rolling as he grunted his acknowledgement.

"... And make sure he lays off the bottle tonight," I added, smirking.

"_Ach, nein!"_ Achilles answered, and Theseus chuckled.

Zeno, my accountant, being Gallic, had a nearly impossible name to pronounce. It took me years to shush out his name using sounds which had no representation in the alphabet: Ssssssh-aah-rrr-lzz. 'Charles.' Why couldn't he have picked an easy to pronounce name, like my friend, Alcaeus, the poet? That's why I gave him the name of Zeno: both were good with numbers, right?

But, being Gallic, he loved his wine, he loved his women, and he loved his songs (which he sang at the top of his lungs at 3 a.m. in whichever watering hole he found himself ... too bad for the other one or two patrons that he couldn't hold a tune). Gauls. Well, if there was one thing he loved more, it was coinage, and he would squeeze the electrum until he heard helmeted Athena imprinted on the drachma screaming.

He, like every member of my House, was indispensable.

Early for him was 1 pm. Reveille at 6 am tomorrow would not work unless he got fair warning today. I had just given it.

We returned home in time for supper, and my heart leapt out of my chest when I saw my daughter come to sit by my side. But I hid the warmth of my affection as I greeted her as she sat.

"So, little Cleïs," she rolled her eyes, "how was your day?" I asked her, and I couldn't help kissing her forehead.

She pushed me away.

"Mother," she breathed out, "I'm not little any more; I'm almost of age!" She looked at me with exaspiration and affection.

I looked back at my little girl, almost thirteen. _All grown up!_ I sighed to myself, because she was. She had grown up so quickly during our ten years of exile, in the later years taking care of me more than I took care of her. I swore I wouldn't do this to her, because I had done this for my own mother, who I named my daughter after, and had never really had time to be a child. And here was my own child, so unlike my mother, so steady and calm and self-possessed and mature, taking care of me, her mother.

The servants, all free men, brought out the food and wine, and I quizzed Cleïs over the meal, as was my routine.

"So," I asked, enjoying the taste of the shish taouk, "where did your studies lead you today?"

"Homer," she replied factually.

_Ah! one of my muses!_ His descriptions were scintillating, and his invocation of the ...

"Mother?" Cleïs' question interrupted my thoughts.

"Yes, my daughter," looking down at her father's bronze hair and into my brown eyes.

She is such a beauty, taking the best traits from her father and from me.

"Is there anything more tedious than Homer going on and on about a stupid war over a girl? I mean, how stupid can men be? She can't have been _that_ pretty, can she? And even if she was, so what? Go find another girl! What was the big deal?"

I looked at my daughter. I could never guess what would come out every time she opened her mouth. I could only guess it would be something shocking; I was usually right about that.

"Um, ..." I tried to start, but Cleïs was on a tear.

"His next poem better not be as disappointing. _Please_ don't tell me it's about some stupid male not being able to find his way home for ten years! I mean, sure there's more than two islands in the Aegean Sea, which makes things hard for boys, I guess, but _ten years?_ How stupid can a man be? Isn't he supposed to be coming home from a victory he lead? What would he tell his wife, _'Honey, I got lost when I took a short cut'?_ For _ten years?"_

I cleared my throat as I tried to cover my shock of hearing the _Odyssey_ so described.

"Well, ..." I tried again.

"I mean, _come on,_ Mother! What's the point of reading verse after verse of 'rose-fingered dawn' if the guy doesn't use it to figure out that, _'Hey, that way's East!'_ then what's the point? I mean, _no duh!"_ Cleïs was very blunt sometimes. "I mean, gone for _ten years?_ That's almost as bad as Fa-..." but the shocked look on my face stopped her. She gasped at her error.

Sometimes Cleïs was much, much too blunt, speaking before she realized what the impact of words would cause.

With as much control as I could muster, I rose from the table.

"Mother, I... I'm so sor-..." Cleïs began to rise from her seat.

My wave silenced her.

"Cleïs, stay, finish your supper," I whispered and turned to go.

Her mournful voice tried to pull me back, "Won't you stay with me, Mother?"

I didn't turn back. "It's okay," I said, "I'm not hungry, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late tonight, hm?"

I left to my chamber, passing Cercylas' bust, brushing my fingers against the handsome features of his face, and crawled into bed.

Some time later that night, I don't know how much later, Cleïs' hand was on my shoulder.

"Tuck me in?" she begged.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

"Always," I responded firmly. This had been our routine from the beginning of my exile, and since Cercylas has been away in Andros, running the his family trade from his home city, it has been our routine ever since. It would probably been our routine until she found her own Cercylas. At least, I hoped it would. No matter how angry one became with the other, we always had this moment. Earlier in her life, I would read to her after I tucked her in. Nowadays I had to pull the book out of her protesting arms. If I didn't, she'd be up all night, reading.

After I tucked her in and kissed her forehead, she gave me that look with her big brown eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she whispered up to me.

I smiled sadly in response and held her cheek in the palm of my hand for a moment.

I turned to go.

"Will Father ever come home?"

I was glad I was facing away from her, but I could tell from her voice she needed my eyes, so I turned back.

"Yes, sweetheart," I responded, believing my answer for her sake. "He'll come home someday." I didn't bother to clarify that he was already at his ancestral home on Andros now.

"Will he come tomorrow?" She asked without hope.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," I responded.

"Then when, Mother?"

I smiled at her and sighed. "I don't know, honey, but he'll come someday. The affairs of his business are very complex, ... he has to cross a lot of water, and he never was much of a sailor."

"Like that Odysseus, right?" she asked.

"Yes, like that Odysseus. Now sleep, sweetie." I said, and I blew out the candle.

Yes, Cercylas would come to us one day, even if the body of water he had to cross was the River Styx.

* * *

**Endnotes:**

Mytilene became the capital city of the isle of Lesbos when Alcaeus, the poet (who some believe to be one of Sappho's lovers) led a successful revolt against Methymna. I posit that Sappho was sequestered here after returning from exile in Sicily.

Sven and Ottar are two veggie friends of Lyle, the kindly Viking in the Veggie Tales movie by that name. Achilles and Theseus were two ancient greek heroes (the work 'hero' is a greek word: it means 'a man').

The drachma was a coin of exchange in ancient Grecian times.

The River Styx is what separates the land of living from Hel. The boatsman, Charon, ferries across the souls separated from the dead to their destination. The cost of the trip is paid by the dead with the coin inserted into their mouth at death.


	2. The Fine Art of Haggling

**Chapter summary:** The chapter in which Sappho buys, names, and frees "Tri," the girl she saw towed to the market by those Etruscans yesterday.

* * *

Bright and early the next morning, Achilles, Theseus, Zeno, and I made our way to the market. I marched purposely past the food stalls and the merchants hawking their wares, right to the "meat" market.

It wasn't hard to spot her, the girl from yesterday. She stood a hand taller than me, and her golden hair glinted in the early morning light.

"Ah, Lady Sappho!" The merchant greeted me with a superficial smile. I didn't know him, but I was known to most of the isle's inhabitants by reputation. "It's a pleasure to have you here. Was there anything that I could help you with today?"

"What is the price of the girl?" I didn't waste time, pointing to her with my chin, but not looking over to her. I couldn't afford to be distracted now.

"Oh, that one, my lady," he sucked in this breath regretfully, "I see you have fine taste, but her training lies elsewhere and wouldn't be useful in a house as exalted as yours, and I don't wish to have a customer walking away from a transaction dissatisfied. I'm sure there are other more ..."

"How much?" I cut in.

He grimaced, playing the trade, and probably annoyed at my breaking etiquette.

"Well, my lady, the thing is, with her looks and talents, she would catch quite a fine price, but only for the temple or for a house in need of servicing the _master,"_ here he emphasized the word, "of the house, so I prefer to wait for more interested buyers to come later in the day."

Zeno piped up in irritation, "Lady Sappho _is_ interested; give the price."

The merchant turned his eyes from me, looking at Zeno contemptuously and threw a twenty-drachma weight onto the scales. It was considered bad form to say the opening price out loud, but that much? The merchant was sending a clear message, and that message was: _fuck off._

Zeno's face went ashen, and then he sputtered. He looked over at the girl and then rounded on the merchant.

"Twenty? Twenty drachma! No," my Gaul stated with finality. _"One_ drachma is the going rate for a female slave, and _maybe_ one more for any speciality that you say we won't need, but _twenty?"_

The merchant smiled and shrugged, daring us to play his game. One drachma could not be the opening bid. Any negotiation we'd engage with him, he would come out a winner from the get go.

Zeno turned to me, "My lady, let's come back tomorrow when he realizes that _no one_ would _ev-..."_ but he stopped when he saw the set look in my face, and he changed course very quickly.

"My lady, no, _listen_ to me, _please!"_ he began to beg, but he was too late, and he knew it.

I looked at the merchant, who couldn't contain the smug look of satisfaction. I could read his thought: _sucker!_

But he didn't know what was coming.

"You know, _merchant,_ my accountant is right: twenty drachma is not even close to the correct price."

I knew he was waiting for me to offer ten, and we would eventually settle on fourteen, sixteen or seventeen drachma after several rounds of haggling. We both knew the outcome before we started, but it was the pleasure of playing the game that made the exchange worth it.

This exchange would occur just like every other bartered exchange occurred on these islands over centuries of buying and selling ... if we both played by the rules.

I didn't.

I picked up a one-hundred drachma weight and added it to the scales alongside the twenty drachma weight. Then I grabbed the purse hanging off Zeno's belt and balanced the scales.

"Sold; thank you for your time," I said dismissively.

The merchant's face purpled. He had quoted me a _fuck off_ price of twenty drachma, but my counter of one hundred twenty drachma was a _fuck you back._ My exile in Sicily wasn't entirely a waste: the Etruscans had honed the art of the insult, and used it with stunning effect when the situation merited.

"Why you little ..." my new favorite merchant, whom I would never see again, began.

But he stopped when both Achilles and Theseus removed their swords from their scabbards. Apparently, they were very interested in the sharpness of their blades, testing the edges with their thumbs and looking at the merchant speculatively.

I raised my eyebrow at him. "Yes?" I asked.

He looked at me stonily.

"_Didn't think so."_ I growled out quietly.

"Gentlemen," I turned to my men, "it seems our money is good enough here, ..." but it looked to Zeno that he wished it _wasn't_ good enough, he was giving me the _we'll talk later about this_ look. That would surely be a lovely and high volume conversation. "Let's go to the town center where the air is a little less vapid."

Achilles and Theseus sheathed their weapons reluctantly, and Achilles went to the girl: "Come along, then."

This was the first I took her in this day. She was looking between me, the merchant, and the scales. Her attention turned to Achilles, and her eyes narrowed.

I could see Achilles' body stiffen, but his lips twitched upward. If there was anything my Saxon guards loved, it was a fight, and this girl looked like she wanted to make his dream come true. But, instead of bating her, he simply offered his hand. She looked at it briefly, but walked right past him to stand in front of me.

Her eyes measured me.

"Hello," I said pleasantly in Aeolic Greek, my native language, "my name is Sappho, shall we go?"

I didn't wait for her answer. I didn't know if she understood what I said. I turned away quickly, wanting to get away from this merchant as soon as possible.

But before we could leave the stall, Zeno stopped me: "My lady, I forgot something here."

I turned to watch Zeno return the the merchant.

"Excuse me, _sir,"_ Zeno couldn't have put more distaste into his false civility, "but our payment was in coin; the purse is ours."

Quick as lightning, Zeno lifted the purse of the scales. His dagger flashed out, slicing a hole into the purse, and the coins rained down into the tray of the scale but then overflowed onto the table and the ground.

The merchant cried out and made to pick up the coins, but before he could bend, Zeno's now empty hand rested on his shoulder, staying him. Zeno whispered something in the merchant's ear, and the poor man blanched almost as white as the girl standing beside me.

Zeno returned to me, a small, grim grin ghosting his face.

I was going to make a show of dusting the dirt off my sandals, showing that man what I thought of him and of his business, but I guess Zeno's message was loud and clear already.

As we walked toward the center of the market I asked Zeno, casually, what he had told the merchant.

"Oh, nothing, m'lady," he said easily, his voice smiling, "nothing you need concern yourself with. I just told him some good places where he could invest his earnings, and that he may wish to make that investment soon."

"What _kind_ of investments did you suggest, Zeno?" I had learned to connect news-worthy events going on in the isle to that smirk in his voice.

"Oh, there's some good wine worth drinking tonight, you know, before any unfortunate ..."

I cut him off. "I don't want to hear about any 'accidental' deaths tonight, Zeno."

"Oh, you won't _hear_ about it, m'lady." He smiled evilly.

"Zeno," I put as much venom as I could into my voice, "no killings."

Zeno just shrugged.

I sighed. My crew was rather colourful, and Zeno was, as far as I could tell, very, very careful. Nothing could ever be tied back to him, nor to our House.

Besides I had other important matters to attend to now. I turned to the girl.

"Do you speak Aeolic?" I asked her. She nodded, so I proceeded, "Would you please tell me your name?"

She nodded, and responded, "My name is ..."

This was the first time I heard her use my mother tongue, and she spoke it well. It was accented with the Etruscan accent but there was something else there, not Achilles and Theseus' accent but something like it, but then something not like it.

But these thoughts left my mind when she said her name.

Syllable after syllable. I lost count after five syllables. It sounded like two names in the Etruscan tongue, but then her name ended with a sound I couldn't identify as language. The third name, I guessed, her last name, sounded like the breeze blowing in the forest.

I looked at her, speechless. So I turned to my Gaul. "Help?" I pleaded. He knew the Etruscan well, at least.

Zeno looked almost as befuddled as I felt, but he marshalled a reply. "I got her first name, at least, it was something like the Etruscan word for άσπροτριαντάφυλλο."

_Oh! Aspro-Tri-anta-phyllo, _the greek translation for her first Etruscan name, I surmised. Why didn't she just say her name was 'White Rose'? _Fitting name,_ I reflected, given her carriage and looks. ... And she seem to be wearing a floral perfume ... very subtle. I was rather surprised, however, that the merchant allowed her this luxury of applying perfume. I supposed it made good business sense to have the wares look and smell their best for a better sale, but ...

Well, anyway.

"Ah," I confirmed my understanding verbally. It was so odd, always being off balance around this girl. I looked at her and began to convey what was about to happen.

"So, um ..." I began, but then I stopped. There was no way I would pronounce her Etruscan name. First of all, it was more syllables in that strange and disgusting tongue that my mouth could manage, and, second of all, I refused to debase myself by uttering a sound of that brutish language.

"Um, may I call you by your name in Greek?" I asked. "No need to be formal," I added hastily added, "if the name is too difficult for you to pronounce, I could call you 'Tri,' if that's all right with you..." My voice faded with my resolve under her unwavering stare.

She looked at me critically, and I wondered if I had trespassed on her sense of self-possession or some rule of propriety of hers. I blushed in embarrassment.

"That is, if that's okay ... I mean ... with you?" Why was it getting so warm outside all of a sudden?

She regarded me for a second then turned to Achilles and asked something, haltingly, that didn't sound like Etruscan at all.

Achilles smirked and responded quickly, but this seemed to take her aback and to displease her. She looked at him, disbelievingly and questioningly, but he shrugged easily, looking over to me. She hesitated, then asked something of Achilles quietly, which caused both Achilles and Theseus to chuckle, earning them a sharp look from the girl, but Achilles turned to me, seeing my confused look and clarified the issue.

"M'lady, she just wanted to make sure it wasn't a derogatory term; I told her it wasn't." He shrugged.

"Why by the Titan Gaia would calling her 'τρι' be derogatory?" I demanded.

"Well, m'lady, in her native tongue 'tree' means, you know, 'δέντρο,' and she just was concerned that you were mocking her height and figure."

She thought I was calling her a tree? Certainly she was taller than the Etruscans and Hellenists, but her figure?

Well, I couldn't possibly call her thin. She was, well, she was ... perfect.

"No, it's not derogatory," I told her, but I couldn't look at her.

"All right, then," she agreed regally, "you may call me 'Tri.'"

The way she said it, it sounded like she was granting me a royal favor.

I let it pass.

"All right, Tri," I told her, liking her new name, "I'm going to stand in the center of the market, and say something, and you'll stand beside me. When I place my hand on your shoulder, I need to say your full name so that all may hear. Can you do that?" I'm sure she was able, so I clarified with: "Is that all right?"

She regarded me. She was giving me that look that everybody gave me. The look that I had grown accustomed to when I had returned from my exile. Oh, well.

However, she responded evenly, even though her eyebrow was raised. "Yes, I suppose I could just about manage that."

"Good," I sighed, and prepared myself for more of those looks from everybody else as I signaled Theseus of the strong voice.

"Your attention, everyone," he bellowed out, and the activity in the market square ceased as curiosity overtook the pleasure and earnestness of trade, "Lady Sappho has an announcement to make!"

An annoyed susurration of the town responded to Theseus' voice.

I stepped up onto the central platform and eyed the sea of faces regarding me with curiosity and ridicule and disdain and dismissal. I tried to dismiss them as easily as they dismissed me.

I cleared my throat.

"All here present know this," my voice rang through the market, even though is was much smaller than Theseus', "this woman, of whose contract I have bought and paid for in full," I held up the transfer of ownership, "is mine to do with as I wish, and I wish to do the following. Under the law of the Isle of Lesbos, and by the command of the House Cercylas, my House, this woman," and here I touched her shoulder, and she said her name, "is a free woman, beholden to no one, and under the protection of our House."

When people heard the beginning of speech that I had given many times before I saw them begin to tune me out and return to their activities. But when Tri said her name, they all looked with interest, and, for some, their interest turned to fear. I saw those make the sign to ward off death and hastily leave the market, earning me cross looks from the merchants attempting to earn their daily bread.

But why the fear? Her name was magical, and, hearing it the second time, it had a musicality to it that I never expected to hear in the Etruscan, but her own name that finished with a sigh of air was ... unearthly. It sounded like nothing that could be described. It sounded like the sound the waves made in the distance as they kissed the shore: Pegasus rising, a subtle roar of wind. It didn't sound like Death, it sounded like Life. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard before.

And Tri herself, who was looking at me now, not with servile gratitude at being freed, but with mild curiosity — it was if _she_ were doing _me_ the favor of granting me her presence — didn't look like death. Well, okay, she was paler than any other person I've ever seen, but she wasn't inhuman: she was alive, she was breathing, she was standing there, waiting on the next thing to happen.

And what happened next was this: "Zeno," I said, "remove her collar, please."

Zeno was a man of many skills, some I knew, many I did not. But the lock on her collar? Zeno could have removed her collar — simple lock notwithstanding — blindfolded. He took off her collar, with a politely murmured apology to the girl, with his eyes closed peacefully as he went about his work.

Zeno was quite the show-off.

I stepped back down and turned to the girl.

"You are free now. You have no obligation to me or my House. If you wish to go, you may go, but if you wish to stay with us, you may stay as long as you wish."

She looked at me guardedly.

"There are no strings attached here," I reassured her, "you are free to go."

"Go where?" she asked sharply. "And if I stay with you, stay where and what do you expect me to do if I do stay?"

"There are no expectations placed on you," I responded calmly. "You are a guest; that is all. As for the future ..." I shrugged, "well, that's up to you and the Fates."

She looked at me in confusion and disbelief.

Achilles said something in a reassuring tone to her, but it didn't reassure her at all. She waved to the market saying something disparagingly. Achilles shrugged and said something else.

What Achilles said seemed to affect her: she looked down petulantly at the ground and crossed her arms.

I looked at Achilles questioningly, but he just shrugged. I sighed.

"Well, okay," I said to my group, "let's go. Tri, you may come with us if you wish."

I set out back toward our compound. I didn't usually lunch at home, but I had had enough of the market and other people for today. Maybe enough for the rest of the week, too.

There were just the four of us in our party. I looked back toward the market to see Tri still looking down at the ground where we left her. Oh, well. I hoped she faired well in whichever fate she chose for herself.

I intended to not think of her again: I gave her her freedom, and she chose to take it. That was it. But the sound of footsteps approaching our group had us turn to see Tri jogging up to us.

She was breathing heavily and held up a finger, so I stopped and waited a minute for her to catch her breath as she rested her hands on her knees. Hm; it didn't seem like all the much of a distance.

"So," she demanded around her gasps, "I can leave whenever I want, right?"

I couldn't stop my heart from singing — the poor girl really was just cast adrift in our land that was strange for her, I imagined, she really did need an adult to look after her until she found her own footing — but tried to respond evenly, "Yes, you may leave on any day of your choosing and at any time."

Even though my response sounded even, I think my relieved smile gave me away.

"And how do I earn my keep?" she asked sharply. "I have no money." She added this obvious statement, for, of course, a slave just sold would have nothing of her own.

That wasn't quite right. She had a sack that appeared to contain personal items. I wonder what the merchant would allow her to keep? Images of gods from her own land?

I set aside my wondering, however, to respond to her question. "You will not need to earn your keep. You will be our _guest,"_ I emphasized the word, "for as long as you wish."

"Okay, I'll go with you ... for now," she breathed out. She seemed to have caught her breath.

"Okay," I responded, pleased, and turned to complete our trip home.

* * *

**Endnotes:**

A hand is a unit of measure of about four inches by the imperial system or about ten centimeters by the metric system.

Ancient Greek had (at least) three dialects: Attic, Homeric and Aeolic. Attic became the predominant language, Homeric was widely studied because of the high regard for the eponymous author. Sappho spoke and wrote in Aeolic, and her works were unfortunately lost in antiquity along with the loss in interest in Aeolic. It is only in the last century that there been a renewed interest in her and her poetry.

The ancient greek myth about the creation of Pegasus, the winged horse, was that he was created from the white caps of the waves as they crashed ashore.


	3. Trophy Wife

**Chapter Summary:** The chapter in which we meet Lady Melissa, the third wife of General Pittacus, ruler of the Isle Lesbos, and in which she makes an interesting offer for Sappho to consider.

* * *

On our way back to House Cercylas we passed by the procession of Lady Melissa, the current wife of Lesbos' ruler, General Pittacus.

_Forty guards,_ I thought to myself scornfully. She was important, to be sure, but, really! Perhaps it was because she was so young to be in such an exalted position that she felt herself to be worthy of all that protection? General Pittacus has said: "Power shows the man." He quite fancied himself the philosopher. I guess power also showed the woman.

I had thought our two groups would pass each other without comment. The ruling class had nothing to say to a wayward citizen, such as myself, but I was surprised to hear a delighted "Sappho!" called out from the palanquin at the center of the procession.

And Lady Melissa herself hopped nimbly out of her ride and skipped toward our group with her majordomo in tow.

"Dear Sappho, there you are!" she cried. She couldn't have been more than a year or two older than Tri, but she acted much younger. In fact, I would go so far as to say that she acted much younger than how Cleïs behaved.

"Lady Melissa," I responded stiffly, bowing. The less I dealt with the government, the better.

"Oh, pish-posh, my dear!" she carried on easily. "Let's not be so formal with each other! Why, we're practically sisters!" I had no idea where she invented this familiarity, but it didn't bode well for me. I didn't want the government's interest, even if this regime was the one I had supported during the uprising and consolidation of power. I didn't have time to counter her statement, however, for she was staring, open-mouthed, at Tri.

"Gods!" she exclaimed. "Is this your latest acquisition? She's quite a prize! What does she do? ... I mean, what do _you_ need her for?" She tittered like a child looking over a new toy. "Can we borrow her sometime?" she asked this last one eagerly.

I fumed. _"Lady_ Melissa," I growled at this girl before me, making these arrogant and presumptuous statements, "I believe you haven't met άσπροτριαντάφυλλο, a _free_ woman guesting at our House. Tri," I didn't turn to look at her, keeping my eyes on Lady Melissa, "this is Lady Melissa, third wife recently married to General Pittacus, ruler of Isle Lesbos."

Lady Melissa's mouth reopened in shock. She mouthed the question: "free woman?" But quickly collected herself.

"Gods!" she repeated, "the rumors from the marketplace today and about you in general are true!" She smirked, looking over my party. "My, my, Sappho, dear, you are something else! Quite the motley crew of barbarians you're collecting, isn't it! Quite the progressive you are, hm?"

"Yes," I responded, barely containing my rage, "thank you so much for your, um, compliments. Now, if you'll excuse us ..." and I made to depart her presence.

"Actually," she put a staying hand on my shoulder, that I went to shrug off, ...

But then thought the better of it. Her tone when a touch more commanding, and her guards seemed quite a bit more alert.

"I was thinking you and I might chat a bit about this or that. Shall we still on that bench over there? It's a nice shady spot under that olive tree. Let's you and I go sit alone for a moment; just the two of us ... what do you say?"

It wasn't a question.

"Of course, Lady Melissa, whatever _you_ say," I responded to her while I signed to Zeno in our battle language to stand down, but to stay alert and to protect Tri. He acknowledged, very unhappily, and warned that Lady Melissa's fan was a weapon. I looked at how she held it, fanning herself casually. Yes, I could see that she knew how to use it very well. If anything happened, I would be sliced to ribbons by the time I reached under my tunic for my concealed dagger.

She had me. But she already had me at forty guards. If there was anything she wanted to do, she could, and quite easily. Playing along would be the best course for now.

"Cadmus," she turned to her majordomo, "tell the men to take their ease here whilst Lady Sappho and I talk privately ... we shouldn't be more than a half-an-hour."

"M'lady, you need an escort ..." he began dourly, but stopped mid-admonishment at her look. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he bowed and returned to the mass of guards stiffly, clearly as uncomfortable about this situation as Zeno was.

Lady Melissa led me to the shaded bench, and we sat.

"So, Sappho, my dear," she rested a hand companionably on my shoulder, but then she stopped suddenly, glaring over my shoulder.

"Excuse me," she said curtly to me as she rose and stalked about ten cubits to another bench where two men were drinking wine and taking their ease.

"Gentlemen," she greeted them as they rose and bowed to her, "my guards are taking their ease over there," she waved casually in the direction of her guards. "Why don't you go join them and share in their bread breaking?"

"M'lady," one of them started, looking around furtively, "the General was very clear about ..."

But Lady Melissa's hiss interrupted him: "I don't believe you didn't hear me the first time, so I'll say it clearly this time: _fuck off!"_ The way she enunciated each of the last two words left no room for argument.

They didn't look too pleased either as they were forced to leave.

"Ah!" she smiled at me easily as she sat back down, "my husband is so _protective!_ Anyway," she returned to her easy and carefree way of speaking, "what I wanted to talk to you about was this!"

She looked excited, pleased, youthful again, but I had seen the cold and commanding side of Isle Lesbos' ruler's wife. Perhaps she _would_ last as long as her predecessors, if not longer.

"You're educated, right?" she asked. I nodded, cautiously.

"You're a woman, right?" she asked again. _Last I checked,_ I responded sarcastically in my mind, but I kept that thought silent and just blinked at her.

"You're a poet, right?" she continued.

Yes, I'm the poet. I'm Sappho the Great Poet. I'm the Great Poet whose first public work got her parents thrown onto the pyre and herself and her infant daughter banished for ten years. Her first and her last public work. That's me: Sappho the Poet, who hasn't written one line for more than thirteen years.

Yes, that me. I'm the poet.

I swallowed hard, not knowing how to respond at all. Was I to be put on trial again for that one verse to Aphrodite I wrote before my banishment they had labeled as heretical? Was this what this was all about?

"So, this is what I was thinking, ..." she continued appearing oblivious to the knife she just twisted in my heart. I suppose she was too young to even be aware of the uproar caused by my scandal, but how could she not know about it as the ruler's wife?

She was playing me, ... but what was her game?

I didn't have any stomach for intrigue, and I felt my it turning as this now obviously astute and politically savvy woman tightened her nets around me.

"I want you to establish a school of learning for young women ... you know, give them the skills to prepare them for life: poetry, music, cooking, keeping house, managing the servant and slaves, and other domestic duties, ... things like that! Give them some skills at speaking, and more importantly, remaining silent, so that they show themselves well for their husbands' sakes in social settings. Here is where we can make the Isle of Lesbos the pride of the Aegean Sea. We already have bright learned men of valor, let's add the intelligence and wisdom of a woman's touch to compliment and to complete the greatness that is Lesbos. I'll fully fund your school and leave everything to you. What do you say?"

She vibrated in her seat with excitement as her words and their impact washed over me.

What did I say? I could say what I thought ... instead I could say nothing ...

I tried to be political. "Um, I'll think about it, Lady Melissa."

Lady Melissa's eyes narrowed at me. "Hm. Yes. 'Think about it.' That's an interesting answer ... tell me," she continued, speculatively, "which side do you think would win if I told my guards to attack you, your side or mine?"

"Um, why would you ask such a question, Lady Melissa?" I couldn't see why she was suddenly making us adversaries. "But to answer your question, I'd think your forces, with their huge numerical advantage, would easily wipe out my guards."

"I disagree," she answered matter-of-factly, "I'd say it's about even with your two warriors each the size of the tower of Babel and that assassin of yours. And the new girl? She's obviously a combatant and a leader. What's her weapon? The bow? Or is she another assassin like your Gaul? Or did you purchase yourself a strategist? Is that what you're planning in that compound of yours? A coup d'état?"

I worked on controlling my breathing as I looked at a woman causally fanning herself less than two hands distance from me.

"So, we're about evenly matched, your guards and mine. But those are just my guards. But add my husband's personal forces? I think we could take you. But here's the thing, right? Your House is about one-twentieth the economy of the isle ... more like one-eighteenth now with your recent acquisitions. Very impressive, especially given that there are more than ten thousand families on this Island of the Olive Trees. But even with that much wealth, you couldn't sustain a fight for long enough to secure your power, and what kind of dictator could you be anyway? Who takes orders from a woman except the Amazonians? You'd be constantly putting down rebellions, and you know that, so you have your little Gallic assassin, right? The little man who lives in the night and can go into and out of any place in the world, killing all he likes without breaking a sweat. He could materialize right in our bedchamber and walk right out the front of the capital house without a soul the wiser. You'd assassinate all rivals until you found yourself a puppet that would beg to take orders from you. Isn't that right, Sappho, dear?"

She patted my shoulder affectionately, her fan lazily waving her face, ... covering her mouth from the view of her guards and mine.

My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. I spoke very slowly and carefully, "I don't know how you came to these conclusions, Lady Melissa, but I wish to make it very plain that I am not your enemy and have no intentions in _any way_ as those you've enumerated. Yes, I've been exiled, but _it worked, okay?_ I have no desire to hurt my home isle or to be forced off it again."

"Enemy!" she exclaimed and laughed easily. "How could you think that?" I couldn't believe how easily she said that, how easily she said everything. "How could you think we'd be enemies when I so wish to work together with you, not to hurt our isle, but to make it and its inhabitants the best in the known world?"

She turned serious again. "You said you think about it, which of course means 'no,' but think about this. I come into my position of power and ask for statii on all the Houses of the isle, and get them, except for House Cercylas. Nobody knows anything about that House, silent for two years since your return, and all the while you continue to build your power and wealth in that tightly guarded compound where our spies make it in, but don't make it out ... that is, make it out alive. Your Gaul likes to change daggers with every kill, doesn't he? So clever of him never to use that dangerous looking knife he carries so publicly. And then, look at you! For the past year, off you go to the market every day with your elite guards, watching everybody and everything, and obviously taking notes of every movement, planning what? And then your most recent acquisition from the Etruscans? For a price that bought that merchant's retirement? You couldn't have bought just that girl with that kind of money. So what _did_ you buy? An alliance with the Etruscans? Hm. I didn't think you, of all people, with your very public stance on them, would do that, but anyone can see the obvious benefit. You'd get your coup, but in so doing, hand us over to those pigs." She spat on the ground.

I turned white. "Lady Melissa, I would _never, ever ..."_

She looked at me so nonchalantly. "Yeah, yeah, blah-blah-blah. That's what every honest patriot and every deceitful traitor cries, and poor little me ...!" At this she folded her fan and put it to her forehead in mock woe, "how am I to know the difference between the two? I'm just a simple and simpering little trophy of a third wife of my lord and master Pittacus, barely old enough to be his granddaughter. That's me: all beauty and no brain!" She batted her eyes perfectly, assuming a look of complete stupidity.

"Leastways, that's what everybody thinks when they see me. Even my own guards think that! And I'm very pleased to perpetuate that misperception, as it leaves more doors open and more unguarded comments are dropped around me that way than if I showed my true colors. But I see it's not getting anywhere with you, so let me tell you a secret, my dear Sappho." Lady Melissa leaned into me and her lips brushed against my ear.

"I am in awe of you," she whispered.

I had heard that flattery was the tool of the political arts, but Lady Melissa's voice held an unmasked sincerely that couldn't be faked. I pulled back to look into her face: her eyes reflected the sincerity of her voice.

She continued: "Have you ever wondered why your solitary verse merited the death sentence for your entire house that my husband so generously exercised his clemency to spare you, specifically, from?"

So she was apprised of the facts. So why was she asking the obvious. The list of accusations must have been at her disposal.

I recited dully, still pained after all these years of the crimes I committed against the State: "It wasn't written by one of the priests of the order of the Goddess Aphrodite; it didn't follow the chanted form of the ..."

"No," she said firmly. "Those were the excuses. But the reason? The real reason? They were afraid. We are all afraid of you, Sappho."

She leaned back and looked at me, appraisingly. "I've been to Athens and educated there; I've been to the Library in Alexandria, and not as a tourist. I've read everything from everywhere. I've read the prayers and chants of the cult of Aphrodite recorded afresh dating back from over one thousand years ago. So I have the authority to say this: what you have written is unlike anything ever seen before."

"You know the standard stuff as well as I do: hum-di-ho-dee, all very austere, all very boring. But your verse ..." and then she chanted.

"Ποικιλόθρον᾽ ὰθάνατ᾽ ᾽Αφροδιτα, ..." she started. The sounds coming liquid-like from her throat: "Poikhilothron athanat Aphrodita ..." saying the first line of the verse I wrote that damned my old house to destruction: "Sparkling, immortal Aphrodite ..."

"Stop!" I shouted, and stood abruptly, breathing hard from the memories that assailed me. My group and her guards looked over at the commotion, some actually made as to move our way, but Lady Melissa's casual wave stayed them. They quickly lost interest when they saw it was just me, behaving in my usual way.

Lady Melissa regarded me critically from the bench.

"Where, ..." I gasped, "where did you read that?"

"Do you think my husband would allow the priests of the temple to burn the only copy of something like that?" Lady Melissa snorted at my naïveté. "The priests got the original, yes, but he had a copy made to keep as his most secret treasure. And he showed it to me because he thought I might like it." She smiled at me. "I did."

"And why, my dear poetess, do you think there was such delight on the part of the priests at its destruction, and such secrecy on the part of my husband over a scrap of papyrus with some words scrawled on it?" she asked.

"Might it be because you don't treat the Goddess as the priests treat her? As some distant and abstract concept, as something harmless and inconsequential? As something to be ignored with rote praise?"

"Might it be because your words are the first time that someone really, truly expects, no, begs, Aphrodite to answer? Might it be because your words were half of a conversation, and you are waiting for her reply? And not waiting for a reply from an abstract nothing, but actually are engaged in a conversation, as we two are now so engaged?"

"Might it be, my dear Sappho," Lady Melissa's eyes stared at me intensely, missing nothing, "that you really, truly believe the Goddess Aphrodite exists, that you've seen her, as if she were real, with your own eyes? That it's as if you actually already had a conversation, a real conversation, even just in your mind, with her already?"

I stood over her, but I was the one who felt trapped, cornered.

Lady Melissa, this young third wife of General Pittacus, leaned back easily and smiled.

"Oh, you play the part perfectly. Maybe you even believe it. 'Oh,' you say, 'I'm just a harmless little poetess, please ignore me.'" She looked at me through narrowed eyes. "But you don't fool me one bit: you are the most dangerous person in the world. Why? Because you see everything differently, and you speak what you see. And when that insight is communicated ...?"

"You will change the world." She said this with such confidence and belief.

"And that's where I come in." Here Lady Melissa's young voice took a practical turn to it. "You may think of me as you wish ..."

I made to protest, but she raised a jaded hand and continued, "... but let me tell you one thing about my husband. No, I won't tell you about his kindness to me, his tenderness, his attentiveness. I won't bother you with the love we feel for each other that you, and everybody else on Lesbos, don't believe exists between us. I will tell you this: General Pittacus has done what nobody else has ever been able to do, he has united the entire Isle under one House and given us peace, direction, and an identity."

"My house could have done that, but we lacked what he had: vision, determination, craft and drive. We could have united Lesbos, but it was my husband, not my old house that did this."

"Your house?" I asked, and suddenly felt out of my depth.

Lady Melissa patted the place on the bench beside her. I sat, cautiously, eying her.

She smiled at me: "I come from the House Methymna."

I gasped in shock, and was very glad that I was now sitting down. She had just told me that she was the arch-rival to General Pittacus' house, and ... with the statements I've so publicly made ... to me.

"Yes," she said, her voice smiling now, too. "I return to my House from my education abroad, finding our aspirations in shambles and our power stripped away, and our people, oh! our people, Sappho: hundreds dead by the hand and by the orders of that hated General Pittacus. Oh, and by the way, little Melissa, you're engaged to be married, I was informed, to guess whom?"

"Quite the homecoming surprise for the girl bettering herself at the Library of Alexandria! I went out into the world to learn, and, boy, did I ever get an education!"

"So now I am of the House Mytilene," she smiled easily. "Do you know what that means?"

I looked at the girl-child-woman whose old house I had condemned in the worst way and tasted the bitterness of the words as they now left my mouth: "It means my House is beholden to yours."

"Oh, Sappho, Sappho!" She exclaimed in a playfully reproachful manner. "Yes, of course, it means that, but it means much, much more than just the very narrow concerns of your house, albeit wealthy and influential, and mine! It means _every_ house is beholden to mine. It means that the welfare of every person on Lesbos, including yours, is now my concern."

"And my concern is this." Her tone and her look became serious. "We've just now begun to recover from the wounds of our worst civil war. We are just now beginning to prosper as a unified Isle. Do you understand me, Sappho? We cannot afford to be torn apart from within again, especially with our Etruscan visitors so eagerly looking for some weakness anywhere."

"And you, with your world-changing words, and new chattel you've just obtained for an exorbitant sum indirectly from those self-same northern 'friends' of ours ... Sappho, what will you do when you begin to weave that spell of your words? Will you fire the imagination of our countrymen to turn brother against brother again as has so recently happened, calling on the Goddess Aphrodite to ignite the flames of war? How can I tell if you are a devoted fanatic of hers or a zealot of war or a scheming power broker for the Etruscans helping them to make their move against our Isle?"

She unfolded her fan with a practiced snap and smiled at me easily as she resumed fanning herself, cunning and calculation returning to her eyes.

"I can't," she clarified. "I can't tell the difference with you, dear silent and secretive Sappho, so deeply wounded by her countrymen. So, be my friend. Help me find you again; you: that girl who supported Pittacus in unifying Lesbos. Help the girls of Lesbos be the envy of the world, and take my new House's money doing it, and establish a school unlike the world has ever seen. Think of it, Sappho, a school for girls! You will be remember for all ages, and by whom? By those girls and the generations that followed, forever."

"You accuse me of consorting with the Etruscans and then offer to put me on your dole?" I whispered, my hands clenched by my sides, "You can take your filthy lucre and you can take your damn finishing school and you ca-..."

"Now, tut-tut, Sappho, please watch that famous temper of yours." Lady Melissa rested the edge of her fan very gently on my lips, silencing me. The edge of the metal blades of the fan were very, very sharp. "Just think my offer over, at least for a week, and then send me a message or come see me ... come see me any time, day or night, in fact. I'll be delighted to break bread with you and that sweet little daughter of yours."

She removed the fan.

"After all," she concluded, "I think it'd make everybody happier and rest a lot easier if the Houses Mytilene and Cercylas worked together instead of separately."

She turned to go, but then turned back to me. "Just one more thing," she said, and then embraced me.

Her fan rested on my chest, and her mouth touched my ear, in sight of only the olive tree casting its shade over us.

"Dear Pittacus is old, but he's not _that_ old, so if anything, _anything,_ untoward happens to him, and he were to die for some unknown reason or by foul play, utter chaos would overtake the Isle. So if this 'unfortunate accident' does befall my husband, you had better tell that assassin of yours to kill every last person in _our_ house as well, because, otherwise, my guards will follow the orders I gave them this morning, and kill every last member of _yours ..._ except you and your daughter, of course."

I felt her lips smile as my heart stopped.

"Because we'll save you two for last. You get to watch your daughter being split down the middle by this very fan, and then we'll burn her corpse, making sure she never boards Charon's ferry. That's the last thing you'll see, because then we'll put your eyes out, and you'll live the rest of your long life, right by my side, with the memory of the agonizing and final death of your only daughter. So, for your House's sake, I think you might wish to add my husband continued good health to your daily prayers and offerings."

She pulled back, holding me at shoulder length.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "please finish that poem! I can't wait to read the rest of your _corpus."_

She began walking me back toward our groups, her arm casually wrapped under mine easily holding me up, her fan waving gently at our faces.

"I have to say, reading just that verse, you are the best poet in the world!" she enthused, "Better even than Homer himself! I am your biggest fan; it's so wonderful that we are going to be such great friends!"

She paused by her palanquin, folded her fan with a snap, and held it out to me, the blades pointing at her.

I looked at her, offering that dread weapon to me. She nodded to me, her eyes filled with a wisdom in them that I had missed before. I took the fan in my hand. It was much heavier than what it looked to be.

"It's in your hands now, Sappho," Lady Melissa said this so airily, "what happens next depends on you."

She hopped lightly into her palanquin and glanced at Tri. "Your new girl is such a treasure! Cassiopeia's beauty is put to shame. Okay, now, I have to be off, but do seriously consider my offer, Sappho, dear! Ta, now. Bye. Ta!"

I watched numbly as her entourage turned about and headed back in the direction of the House Mytilene. They may have been out shopping, but it appears that they didn't need anything at the market.

Our group watched them disappear around a bend in the road.

Zeno asked: "So, m'lady, what was the offer from House Mytilene?"

Of course Zeno would ask this. His concern for the welfare of our House was only surpassed by my concern for the House, and when there was money involved, ... Well, if he wasn't such a late riser, I would have sworn that he never took his nose out of the books.

"Lady Melissa wishes to fund a finishing school for girls that our House would run," I answered.

"Great!" He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. "When do we begin this enterprise?"

I shrugged disinterestedly.

Zeno stopped in shock. "You told her no?" His voice was filled with disbelief.

"Zeno ..." I sighed.

He clammed up, and we walked along in silence, but now he was sullen and depressed, too, so I was in excellent company. I knew I was going to get _another_ lecture from him, but all I wanted to do was to return to the compound and crawl back into bed. There was too much that happened already this day, yet it wasn't even noon.

Tri kept giving me looks. I could feel it.

"What is it, Tri?" I asked.

She turned to Achilles and began to speak with him.

I sighed. "Tri," I interrupted, "you can speak your thoughts freely to me; anyone in my House will tell you this."

She looked to Achilles for confirmation. Achilles nodded.

Tri turned her focus to me. "I have a question ..." she began diplomatically.

I had gathered as much. I just nodded.

"Are you stupid because you're rich? Or were you born that way? Or did you have to work at it?" Her diplomacy had turned to bluntness.

Both Achilles and Theseus were pounding their thighs as they bellowed with laughter, nearly doubled over, caught by surprise with her words. Zeno, however, grimaced with a very sour expression on his face.

I sighed again. Why was it that I even got out of bed this morning?

_Well, at least nothing else could make this day any worse, _I thought ruefully.

It amazes me how wrong that thought was, given the events that immediately followed it. I should have learned by now not to tempt the Fates with thoughts like those, so obviously challenging their foresight.

* * *

**Endnotes:**

Lady Melissa of Pittacus is named after the Greek goddess of the same name whose name meant "Honey bee" and who was the goddess of pain-free delivery during child-birth.

A cubit is about a half a meter (or a foot and a half in the Imperial system).

The Library of Alexandria (Egypt) was the central repository of knowledge of the Ancient world. They had a very clever method of acquisition: they would buy whatever writing they could from around the known world, then make an exact copy of that writing and return either the original or the copy, so the owner would get the money for their book and then eventually their book (or a copy of it) back. Needless to say, everyone was eager to send Alexandria their works.

The "Hymn to Aphrodite" that Lady Melissa quotes here is the only poem from Sappho that survives to this day in its entirety. It is indexed as Poem I of Sappho's corpus.

The northern city of Methymna had a leading role in Lesbos up until the seventh century B.C.E. Then the western city of Mytilene united all of Lesbos under its rule when it conquered Methymna's aspirations.

The myth of Cassiopeia is that her claim that her beauty rivals that of the goddesses so angered them that they enthroned her in the sky ... upside-down. The gods and goddesses in ancient times were a capricious, meddlesome, jealous lot, and provoking them was considered foolhardy.


End file.
